Hard the Growing
A poem by Joannie Stangeland

Hard the Growing

At night, the bunnies munch my winter rye,
green blades cut short.

The bunnies come into my garden.
The fox comes into my dreams.

In myth, a fox was tossed into the sky,
Canis minor, lesser dog, a story

with a meteor shower this time of year,
a rain of light above the cloud cover.

To find my better self, I want resolve, and learn
that solve comes from loosen,

unravel. I might come undone over
and over, needing a door, a path—

not that gloved hand pulling
a rabbit from the satin hat,

but some brush with the fox that inhabits
and leaves. I put my trust in the fox

and know how easy it is
to love what I have not seen.

Photo by Rosanne Olson

About the Author:

Joannie Stangeland is the author of several collections, most recently The Scene You See (Ravenna Press). Her poems have also appeared in Meridian, The Pedestal Magazine, Whale Road Review, The MacGuffin, and other journals. Joannie holds an MFA from the Rainier Writing Workshop.


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